


Aziraphale/Crowley tumblr drabbles

by i_am_a_hog



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Angel Wings, Cuddling, Cuddly Crowley, Domestic, Domestic Spat, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Poetry, Post-Canon, Wing Grooming, possessive Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 11,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_hog/pseuds/i_am_a_hog
Summary: Just some short ficlets I wrote for tumblr prompts.





	1. About THAT Statue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Have fun reading <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This Statue](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1473c0e596ed718842b056d18648db34/tumblr_p46kb00qaR1r3rsfmo1_1280.jpg)

They were moving. After centuries of living in the same place, making it a home in the realest of senses, it had only taken Aziraphale a second to make a decision when Crowley asked him.

“Oh. There’s really nothing I’d rather do,” he smiled at the demon. And Crowley smiled back; even though their smiles had a different quality to them, the underlying fondness for the other shone through.

As it turned out, Crowley had already located a beautiful cottage in the South Downs – cosy, beautiful and already almost as homey as Aziraphale’s bookshop. It was perfect. And even more perfect was the fact that Crowley was going with him.

“What about all your books?” he asked as they were having breakfast in Crowley’s kitchen – well, Aziraphale was having breakfast, Crowley sat behind an Espresso he had barely touched and that was likely cold and rather unappetising by now. The worried tone surprised Aziraphale, even though it shouldn’t anymore; not after all the centuries Crowley had spent showing the angel how much he meant to him.

“I’m going to bring the most important ones with me and the rest…” He was going to leave them in the shop for now but eventually he would need them close to him again. He had no direct control over the shop from that far away and leaving his precious books there was rather uncomfortable really. Even with all the protective measures he could miracle up. “… we’ll come up with something,” he finished his sentence.

Crowley nodded.

“I suppose you’ll take your plants?” Aziraphale asked and took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Oh. Yeah. Those and some other stuff.”

Aziraphale frowned. “There is barely anything in this flat. What could you possibly want to bring?”

Crowley did not answer.

“Your… throne?” the angel guessed.

“I’m gonna take the statue.”

“Wha- Oh. Oh okay,” Aziraphale said and he was fairly sure that he was blushing. He knew exactly which statue Crowley meant. Not that he had many of them anyway.

“Why?”

“For old times’ sake,” Crowley grinned and his eyes were glinting.

Aziraphale was not sure what that was supposed to mean, but he would have to learn to live in the presence of that… particular piece of art.

“And for inspiration,” Crowley said quietly, his eyes trained on the angel, a smirk playing around his lips.

Aziraphale felt like his face was burning but something in Crowley’s expression made it impossible to turn away. He swallowed heavily, before attempting a weak smile. Kissing Crowley had turned out to be the best decision of his life; so he would not allow himself to be judgemental now.

“If you insist,” he uttered and attempted to hide his blushing cheeks behind his mug of hot chocolate.


	2. Possessive Aziraphale

The year was 1961 and Crowley was wearing the tightest trousers Aziraphale had ever seen on anybody. It seemed to be all the rage with rebellious teenagers – some of the boys even took trousers apart and sewed them back together tighter. It was a fashion movement, Aziraphale could not quite get behind. Crowley however seemed to be absolutely invested in it and Aziraphale could not help but agree that those trousers really did a lot for his figure. They also seemed to have no impact on his range of motion, which was quite impressive.

He quickly averted his eyes, when Crowley turned to look at him.

“Pub for dinner?” he asked, and even though Aziraphale was not a lover of pubs per se, he smiled and nodded.

They were sitting at a small table by the window, overlooking the small street outside. Aziraphale had enjoyed a large portion of mussels, that had been surprisingly well prepared for a small London pub. He was finishing up the rest of his wine, when a young man came up to their table.

“Evening,” he said, after which he more or less disregarded Aziraphale completely.

“Hey,” he said and grinned at Crowley in a way that made Aziraphale uncomfortable, even though he didn’t know why. “I saw you walk through that door earlier and…” he paused for a moment, scanning Crowley’s face for an indication on how to continue. Crowley smirked.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drink with me, back at my place, maybe.”

Aziraphale felt his eyebrows shoot up. This was entirely unexpected and inappropriate at that!

Before Crowley could even open his mouth to answer, Aziraphale was speaking up.

“Excuse me, young man.”

He turned around to look at the angel, an overly bored expression on his face. “I was talking to him,” he had the gall to say.

“So was I. Before you came and interrupted us. I’m sorry but he’s here with me.”

“He doesn’t seem to enjoy your company. He’s not even eaten anything.”

“And that is his choice. Now, if you would ever so kindly leave…”

“Or else?”

“Or else I will – I’ll make you leave.” Aziraphale was wholly prepared to miracle this man out of existence.

“What do you have to say about this? Wanna get out of here?” the intruder turned back to Crowley. But Crowley didn’t even look at him as he snapped his fingers and sent him stumbling backwards, shaking his head, mildly disoriented. Crowley was staring at Aziraphale across the table and even through his sunglasses, Aziraphale knew his eyes never once left the angel’s face.

“Now, what was that, angel,” Crowley asked. His voice was low and the sudden realisation of what had just happened made Aziraphale slump back into his chair.

“That was very unlike me, really,” he sighed.

“You’re jealous?” Crowley asked and this simple word, an explanation, Aziraphale had not even thought of considering; it fit.

“Oh, God,” he breathed. Crowley leaned forward on the table, taking off his glasses and the intensity in his eyes made Aziraphale take in a shuddering breath.

“I could have gotten laid tonight, angel,” Crowley mumbled and Aziraphale rolled his eyes and clenched one hand into a fist under the table. He didn’t like that thought at all.

“Are you going to make it up to me?”

Aziraphale reacted before he could stop himself. He surged forward, sending his chair skidding away, put a hand to the back of Crowley’s head, pulled him closer and mashed their lips together in a frantic and frankly inelegant kiss.

He pulled back the second he remembered they were in public and could get thrown out of this establishment for a simple kiss. And he couldn’t have that – after all, the mussels had been so delicious.

Crowley was still staring at him, lips slightly parted, as Aziraphale pulled the chair closer again and sat down, back straight. He wanted to lean in again, but restrained himself.

“You ready to pay?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale just nodded, picked up the sunglasses from where they were lying on the table and handed them to Crowley.

Their fingertips brushed and the angel smiled with anticipation.


	3. Aziraphale and his relationship with sleep

Aziraphale had never had any use of sleeping. He didn’t really understand why Crowley loved it so much. There was always work to be done, food to be eaten, or another fascinating book to be read.

And if there was nothing else to keep him occupied, Aziraphale just didn’t feel safe. Sleeping always seemed like such a risk and even though he knew, statistically very few people got murdered – or in his case discorporated – in their sleep, but the feeling of vulnerability never quite left him.

Until now. Aziraphale looked down at the outline of Crowley’s features in the dim light of distant street lights. The angel ran his fingers through the mussed hair and sighed happily. Suddenly, he felt tired, exhausted; he supposed it was the stress of the impeding Apocalypse. But there was something else, that granted him the luxury of even being tired. For the first time in over six thousand years, Aziraphale felt truly safe.

He wasn’t sure why he did, exactly – if it was the certainty that for the first time, he was not constantly being watched, or if it was his proximity to Crowley, the arm slung around the angel’s middle… or the kiss, Crowley had hesitantly pressed to his lips earlier. He smiled.

“What are you thinking about?” Crowley grumbled and Aziraphale felt almost embarrassed for absolutely no reason. “Your heart started beating faster, angel.”

Crowley’s voice was incredibly soft, uncharacteristically so, and if Aziraphale had not already been hopelessly in love with him, this would have been the last straw.

“I was thinking about you,” he replied just as softly.

Crowley shuffled around a bit, pressing himself even closer against Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry,” he continued.

“For what?” Crowley mumbled, voice muffled by the fabric of the angel’s pyjamas.

“We could have had this so much sooner, dear. I got it all wrong and clung to my convictions against all evidence and –“

“Shh,” Crowley made and after a second, the shushing changed into a hiss.

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said and Aziraphale felt his heart leap with affection. “I don’t.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered and closed his eyes. “You’ll keep me safe,” he murmured. It was not a question, not really. But Crowley answered anyway.

“Of course I will, angel.”

So, for the first time since the beginning of the world, Aziraphale slept contently, unbothered by heaven, hell, and anything in between.


	4. It's a 'Date' date

Crowley supposed, not many couples could say of themselves, that their first date had been at the Ritz.

It was a familiar space with phenomenal food, even though Crowley rarely ordered anything. So, it was all the more important, that Aziraphale enjoyed himself.

After surviving a row of events, all of which, logically should have killed them, both of them happened to come to the same conclusion.

“Don’t you feel like we’ve had enough of – All of this!” Crowley had vaguely gestured around. After all, it was hard to point at the concept of an averted Apocalypse. “I feel like we deserve some peace and quiet now.”

Aziraphale had nodded, but Crowley had been able to tell that his mind was somewhere else.

“You alright, Angel?” seemed to snap him back into reality.

“I’d like to… try something, Crowley,” Aziraphale said and Crowley raised an eyebrow in response. “I want to try and see if it feels wrong.”

Crowley remained silent.

“Can I touch you?”

“If you need to,” he grumbled, but he met Aziraphale’s eyes, making sure the angel knew it was okay.

And then he had done the one thing, Crowley would never have expected. He kissed him.

Granted, it was a clumsy kiss, not very elegant or passionate or deep. But Aziraphale was kissing Crowley and all he could do was hold on to the angel’s coat.

Crowley could not even remember when he fell in love with Aziraphale, so when they broke apart and the angel started stammering, he shushed him, took him into his arms and enjoyed the hot puffs of air, Aziraphale breathed against his neck.

Crowley had been ready to just go on with their life – except together and very much more obviously in love than before.

Aziraphale however, had picked up on a human practice called ‘dating’. Usually, people dated to get to know one another, to test the waters, to see how their attraction played out - or in some cases if there was any attraction at all. Humans went on dates to spend time with a person they liked and it all seemed overly complicated to Crowley.

Angels – and demons – did not date. Especially not one another. But if Aziraphale insisted, Crowley would do almost anything. Scratch that. Crowley would indeed do anything for him.

And that is the story of how he – Crowley, a demon who had been on earth, around humans, and most importantly this angel for six thousand years – ended up in the Ritz, where he had often been before with the same company as always, and felt  _nervous_  of all things.

Aziraphale was currently eating his way through his main course, but he did so without his usual obvious enjoyment. He was oddly quiet.

“So,” Crowley said, just to break the silence. “Is the food good?”

The angel looked up and met his eyes and Crowley saw the same nervousness and tension in them as the demon was feeling.

“Yes. Yes, it’s great.”

“What are you worried about?” Crowley asked and took off his sunglasses. “We’re on this date… because you wanted to go on one. What do you not like about this?”

Aziraphale carefully laid his cutlery aside.

“I don’t know.”

Crowley sighed.

“Do you think we won’t like each other? That there won’t be a spark after all? I’ve been in…  _love_  with you for thousands of years. As much as I hate to say this – I actually like you, angel.”

He reached out a hand, that Aziraphale took, hesitantly.

“It’s a lot of responsibility, Crowley,” he said.

“Liking you?” Undoubtedly.

“A relationship.”

“Oh. But look at it like this – we saved the world. We can handle… this. Us.”

Crowley could see in Aziraphale’s eyes that he wanted to argue back ‘But we didn’t really save the world. We were just there.’ Instead, the angel only squeezed his hand and smiled at Crowley, before he went back to his food with visibly more of an appetite.


	5. Domestic spat

“Just miracle the dishes clean,” Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes. He was sitting at the table, waiting for Aziraphale to finish washing the dishes – by hand. It was ridiculous and unnecessary and in that time they might as well do something  _fun_. As it was, Crowley became more irritated by the second.

Aziraphale just shook his head.

“There is no need for a miracle,” he said without even looking at the demon.

“And there’s no need to wash the dishes by hand. Nobody checks with you anymore. They won’t notice if you perform something this small. Hell, they probably won’t even notice if you miracle us an entire mansion out of nowhere,” Crowley ranted. He was not even sure himself, why he was this annoyed, but Aziraphale’s lack of equal reaction didn’t exactly calm him down.

“I made the mess and I can clean it up, Crowley. I really don’t mind.”

Crowley hissed.

“Now calm down or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Crowley was over by the sink within a heartbeat. He grabbed Aziraphale’s upper arms and yanked him around until they were standing face to face.

“We’re in my flat, angel. It’s my sofa and my bed and I’ll sleep wherever I bloody well please.”

He was so close to Aziraphale, he could smell the dish soap on his hands and almost taste the wine on his lips. Crowley barely resisted the urge to lean in, but he had a point to make here.

“But I wasn’t the one being bad,” the angel countered, his voice weaker than before. Crowley was fairly sure he could see through the glasses right into his soul and he didn’t like that thought at all.

“Right. Right, that’s  _my_  job after a-“

Aziraphale’s lips were soft but insistent. The angel tilted his head and slipped his tongue between Crowley’s lips; a small noise escaped his throat when the demon responded just as eagerly, pushing him back against the countertop. He let go off Azirphale’s arms and placed his hands on the sides of his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks exactly how Aziraphale liked it. When they broke apart, Crowley took a moment to admire his angel; the flushed cheeks, the reddened lips and the eyes, that shone with emotion so deep Crowley would really rather hide from it.

Before he could move, Aziraphale brought his hands up and gently took off Crowley’s glasses, setting them down next to the sink.

“Darling,” he said softly and Crowley could feel himself melting.

“Yes?”

“Let me finish cleaning the dishes and I’ll be right with you.” With these words, he pulled himself from Crowley’s touch and resumed his previous activity.

Crowley rolled his eyes again.

“Angel. Please.”

“You heard me.”

Crowley leaned back against the fridge. If he was being forced to wait excruciatingly like this, he might as well enjoy it; this was one of the few times, Aziraphale took off his coat at all and if that was not exciting enough already, he rolled up his sleeves, making for an obscenely attractive view.

Crowley shook his head to pull himself out of his thoughts when Aziraphale put the dish towel aside and turned around.

The angel held out a hand and Crowley pulled him close, into another kiss. And then another and another. Crowley threaded his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair – it was even softer than it looked – and put his other hand on the small of his back.

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale mumbled against his lips.

“Mmh?”

“Let’s go to bed.”

Crowley was ready to wholeheartedly agree, but stopped himself and pulled away to look at the angel.

“Oh, so I’m allowed in bed again?” he asked, well aware that Aziraphale could see the laughter in his eyes.

“It’s your bed after all.” Aziraphale blushed and averted his eyes.

“It’s our bed, angel,” Crowley said as he took Aziraphale’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Let’s go.”


	6. Affectionate!Az and Flustered!Crowley

The Great British Bake Off was playing on the television, but Aziraphale wasn’t really paying attention. Of course he would have hated to miss it, but now that he was supposed to be watching, he preferred to play with Crowley’s hand. He preferred to play with Crowley’s hand over a lot of things and the demon did not particularly seem to mind.

They had grown closer since the Apocalypse-that-never-was and Aziraphale enjoyed every second he got to spend with Crowley. They were touching more, for one thing and Crowley seemed to enjoy himself more, but they hadn’t really talked about any of this. It had merely… happened. And just like that, it had also happened, that Aziraphale’s feelings for Crowley had become even more insistent.

“Darling,” Aziraphale whispered and leaned in closer, resting his chin on the demon’s shoulder.

“Hm?” Crowley made but Aziraphale knew that he was neither concentrated on the show, nor listening to him.

“May I touch your hair?” he asked and Crowley made another humming noise.

Aziraphale shifted, so he could rest his elbow on the back of the couch and run his fingers up the back of Crowley’s head, threading through the short hair. He heard a sharp intake of breath, but if anything Crowley was leaning into his touch, so he didn’t stop and instead closed his fingers into the longer strands at the top of Crowley’s head, fingernails massaging circles into his scalp.

“I’ve always liked your hair,” he mumbled, and Crowley’s answering ‘Thanks’ sounded just a bit choked up.

Aziraphale continued to play with Crowley’s hair and the demon seemed to melt into his touch more and more until he was practically leaning back against his chest, eyes almost closed.

“I think I might have liked it better long,” Aziraphale said softly.

“You did?”

“I’d have loved to play with it,” he confessed and smiled, when Crowley blushed just a bit.

“I can grow it out again,” Crowley said and pulled away from Aziraphale’s touch, only to lie down on the couch, dangling his legs over the armrest, head resting on Aziraphale’s thigh.

“I’d love that, darling,” Aziraphale said and smiled down at Crowley.

He was completely relaxed, his glasses were discarded on the kitchen table, eyes unguarded, because after all the times Aziraphale had messed up, he still trusted the angel.

“Can you… continue?” Crowley asked, blush settling on his cheeks, refusing to leave.

Aziraphale brought his hand up to continue playing with Crowley’s hair, his index finger caressing the demon’s cheek, hand wandering further down until he was cupping Crowley’s cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” Aziraphale asked, slightly out of breath. He had never imagined their first kiss like this – always as some sort of grand gesture or a big revelation. Never this casual. Aziraphale didn’t even consider the possibility of Crowley denying his request, so that he nearly missed the tiny breath of ‘yes, please’.

He leaned down and it was nothing like any other kiss he had ever had. For one thing, their lips met at an awkward angle, because of the way Crowley’s head was resting sideways on Aziraphale’s thigh. For another – well, Aziraphale had never kissed a demon before. But after some slightly uncomfortable neck-tilting, they averted the problem of the unfortunate angle and Aziraphale slipped his tongue between Crowley’s lips. The noise, he made in response was nothing short of obscene and Crowley brought up a trembling hand to pull the angel closer.

When they eventually broke apart, Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes and said, with as much sincerity as he could muster, “You’re so beautiful, my dear.”

Crowley only threw his arm across his face in an unsuccessful attempt at hiding his blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These drabbles, over the past couple of days have helped me so much with having fun with my writing, because usually my minimal word count for a one shot is 1000 words, so that has always stressed me out quite a bit, but now I'm here, writing these snippets of a couple hundred words and I'm more productive with writing than I've been in months! Sorry for the ramble, I'm just glad.


	7. Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't think of fic, so I wrote poetry

Eternal war, eternal lines of fire

Between two sides of just one coin, it burns;

Connected as they are by fair desire

To turn around their counterparts’ fixed terms.

 

And in the chaos of it all, a beam

Of light as clear as day, as sharp as star-

-light shines so brightly through the space between

Two entities - so close and yet so far.

 

Emotion is the strongest thing that lasts,

Desire to be near the one that casts

A wish to feel a strong sense of belonging.

 

They wish, they yearn, their feelings ever shine

Through the darkness, that is sharply cut defined;

And deep within them burns eternal longing.


	8. Wing Grooming

“So how long has it been?” Crowley asked, eyes wide with surprise.

“I’ve had them out a couple of times over the years,” Aziraphale said and frowned.

“How many?”

The angel hesitated. “Seven I think. No, eight.”

“You’ve had your wings out eight times in the last six thousand years?” Crowley asked and did not even bother to hide his disbelief.

“Yes. Why are you so surprised?” Aziraphale didn’t understand the fuss Crowley was making about this topic.

“You didn’t groom them?”

“I - what?”

“Angel, do you really mean to tell me that you’ve never even had the desire to clean them up?”

“They’re not dirty, Crowley,” Aziraphale whined.

“Okay, okay. So, what you’re saying is that you have never let anybody touch your wings?”

“No.” Aziraphale said softly.

“Can I?” Crowley responded just as softly.

“Oh. Umm, yes, if you want to.”

“Take off you coat, shirt…” Crowley said, but Aziraphale hesitated. “It’ll be better that way.”

As the angel slipped off his coat and neatly folded it over the back of a chair, then proceeded to open the buttons of his waistcoat, he turned to Crowley.

“So you’ve… done this often?”

Crowley hesitated a moment, before he responded, sitting down on the floor in the middle of the room.

“Once or twice every century. Just whenever I needed it. Sometimes I did it myself but mostly I… hired somebody.”

“For your wings?” Aziraphale asked incredulously while he loosened his bowtie and started to unbutton his shirt.

“I made them forget, angel. But yes.”

“Mmh,” Aziraphale hummed and threw the shirt over the back of the chair.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said and his voice almost broke.

“Yes, dear?”

“You’re so beautiful.”

Aziraphale felt the blush creeping into his cheeks.

“Come here, sit down,” Crowley continued and Aziraphale sat down in front of him, crossing his legs.

The demon ran a hand down Aziraphale’s neck, fingertips tracing over his skin, making his heart race.

“Okay, angel. Bring them out. Aziraphale began to unfold his wings, letting them materialise and show, stretching his muscles, before resting them behind him. Crowley’s hand, that was still resting on his spine, moved to slowly run over as much of Aziraphale’s right wing as he could reach.

The sensation was extraordinary. Aziraphale let his eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh escaped his lips. And then, Crowley started to dig his fingers into the feathers, working his way over every inch, brushing out loose feathers, massaging the muscle underneath. It was an exquisite feeling and Aziraphale had rarely ever felt more cared for than in this moment.

When Crowley started the same procedure with the left wing, Aziraphale thought he had gotten used to it, but the relief, Crowley’s touch brought, made the angel moan with pleasure. His mind began to drift, and only came back into the current reality once Crowley’s hands came together at the base of his wings, massaging the strained muscles in Aziraphale’s back, then his shoulders, concentrating especially on the few square inches of skin where his wings protruded from his back.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale panted out.

“Yes, angel?”

“Thank you.”

“For you, anything,” Crowley replied and Aziraphale did not for one second doubt the sincerity of his words.

And suddenly, Aziraphale was overwhelmingly sleepy. He leaned back into Crowley’s touch, until the demon stopped and instead wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, letting the angel rest his head backwards on his shoulder.

“You want to go to bed?” he asked softly.

“Don’ wanna move,” Aziraphale whined and a second later, he felt himself being lifted up in Crowley’s arms.

“Watch your wings, angel,” Crowley said and Aziraphale folded them against his back, effectively trapping Crowley’s arm between his wings and his back.

Aziraphale barely registered being laid down onto the soft covers. The last thing he was aware of was wrapping his wings around Crowley, pulling him close, before he fell asleep for a relaxing nap of twenty-nine hours and forty-three minutes.


	9. Insecure Aziraphale

“You like me, right?” Aziraphale asked, while he sceptically eyed a plate of dinner he would usually have devoured by now. Not that Crowley would ever call it ‘devouring’ to the angel’s face. Right now, however, he looked demotivated at best and downright depressed at worst, and then there was this question.

“Would I have chased after you for the last six thousand years if I didn’t like you?” he asked back. Aziraphale didn’t meet his eyes and Crowley hated that.

“I suppose not,” he replied quietly and chewed –  _chewed_  – on a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “But do you actually like  _me_?”

Crowley swallowed down the impulse to ask him if he knew how absolutely daft he was being, and instead, gently took the cutlery from between Aziraphale’s fingers and grasped his hands.

“What does that mean?” he asked, internally triumphant at how calm it sounded.

“Are you attracted to me?”

“What have I ever done, that led you to believe otherwise?” He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes and encountered an insecurity he had seen before, but he still didn’t know where it stemmed from.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale admitted.

“What is it, then?”

“I meant physically. Are you physically attracted to me?” Aziraphale asked and looked at the wall somewhere behind Crowley.

“Yes, I am,” Crowley said and didn’t dare ask further questions. He just sat still and held Aziraphale’s hands between his own, while he waited for Aziraphale to direct the conversation further.

“You’re not – you like me, even though I’m a bit pudgy?”

“Why ever wouldn’t I?” Crowley asked. He couldn’t believe Aziraphale was doubting himself over something like this.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, looking small and fragile suddenly. Crowley leaned forward, across the corner of the table and pressed a gentle kiss against the corner of Aziraphale’s lips.

“Listen, angel. I’d feel the same for you, in any shape you could possibly have. But the one you do have is just perfect and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

There were tears in the angel’s eyes, which Crowley decided to ignore, squeezing Aziraphale’s hands, before letting go. When his forearms were safely out of sight under the table, he clenched his hands into painfully cramped fists.

“I mean it, love,” he said and the admiration in Aziraphale’s tear-glistening eyes at the pet name, reassured Crowley a little.

“What brought this about?” Crowley asked nonetheless.

“Nothing.” 

Crowley glared at him. 

“Something Gabriel said. But it’s not his fault, he’s right.”

“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” Crowley hissed, then forced himself to relax as he turned to Aziraphale.

“You have to stop listening to him, he’s not even your superior anymore. Wait – was he ever really your boss? Didn’t you answer directly to -?” He jerked his head vaguely upwards.

Aziraphale only shrugged.

“Hey,” Crowley said and reached out his right hand for the angel’s chin, lifting it up so their eyes met. “Hey, you’re perfect. And I don’t care how often I have to tell you but if you need me to, I will.”

This time, Aziraphale leaned in for a chaste kiss, that was over before Crowley’s muddled brain even caught up with it.

“Thanks,” Aziraphale said and put another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Again, he chewed.

Crowley supposed, that was just a thing he did, after all.


	10. Wing Grooming 2.0

They were in bed – well, Crowley was in bed. Aziraphale himself was more  _on_ bed. He was getting used to sleeping more, now that he was living with Crowley, who apparently still loved sleeping, but most of the time he spent in – or on – bed, he spent reading.

Crowley stirred next to him and Aziraphale looked up from his book.

“Angel,” Crowley said, voice rough and sleepy.

The word had made Aziraphale’s insides slowly melt ever since he understood, that this was Crowley’s very own, secret pet name for him.

“Yes, dear?” he asked, smiling.

“I can’t sleep.”

“You’ve been sleeping for the past five hours,” Aziraphale said and raised an eyebrow.

“Just… nodded off a couple times.”

“As far as I understand it, that’s how sleeping works.”

Crowley frowned.

“No. ‘s not the same.”

“Do you want me to groom your wings?” Aziraphale asked, hesitantly. After all, he had never done anything like it before. But had enjoyed it enormously and he could imagine, it might help Crowley sleep.

The demon only stretched out his wings in response, shuffling around under the covers, so that both of his wings were within reach for Aziraphale to touch.

“Don’t be thorough, just… gentle,” Crowley said and buried his face in a pillow.

Aziraphale set aside his book, after carefully tucking a bookmark between the pages.

Crowley’s wings were soft. Aziraphale wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t expected them to be, but he found himself surprised when his fingers slipped between the feathers, that were somehow cool and warm at the same time.

He wasn’t sure how to move, what to do, but he tried to just relax and let Crowley’s responses be his guide. The demon merely sighed contently once or twice, so Aziraphale concentrated on the feeling of feathers between his fingers, trying to pay equal amounts of attention to every inch he could reach, every feather, every muscle underneath, remembering how good Crowley had treated him before.

“Angel?” It came again and Aziraphale snapped out of a trance he hadn’t realised he was in.

“Yes, darling?”

“Are you still doing that?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale nodded softly.

“I love touching you.”

“I’d assume so, because it’s been six hours,” Crowley grinned at him and a glance at the clock confirmed it.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale muttered, but he smiled. 

He didn’t regret a second of it.


	11. The one where Az plays the Cello (jk, he plays the cello in all of them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Az! Plays! The! Cello! And! There's! Nothing! You! Can! Do! About! It!
> 
> [This is what he plays and what's in on the gramophone in the end.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPZh35QOsKA)

Aziraphale was staring at the booklet in front of him. As much as he loved Bach’s music, actually playing it, was something he loved decidedly less.

Once again, he took it from the top. C-major scale down, one of the most basic things you could attempt to play, then it went up again, simple enough, twisting into loops around one note, rising higher, higher, until it returned to the same C-major downward scale again. The trick was in articulation. It all stood or fell with proper articulation, because the nature of the piece was simple enough. Fast – sure! – but overall simple. The structure of scales was omnipresent in the entire piece and if the musicality, the flow of crescendi and decrescendi paired with impeccable bow- and fingering technique wasn’t there it would become boring. Meaningless.

He made it through the piece, held his posture for just a moment, before he leaned back into his chair and tried to un-cramp his left hand.

“Angel?” Crowley called from the next room.

“Yes?”

“You done?”

“I can stop for today, yes.”

“I ordered Chinese food.”

Aziraphale put his cello down beside the chair, unwound the bow and went to join Crowley in the kitchen. It smelled delicious.

“Did you pay the delivery person?”

Crowley looked offended.

“Of course, I did. What do you think I am?”

“A demon?” Aziraphale asked and smiled.

Crowley glared at him.

“They’re poor enough already.”

“You’re too  _good_ , darling,” Aziraphale grinned and carried the boxes to the table, feeling Crowley’s angry stare in his back.

“Are you going to join me?” he asked.

Crowley huffed out a breath and slumped down on the chair next to Aziraphale.

“So, the cello.”

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked, while putting a mountain of food on his plate.

“How long has  _that_  been going on?”

“About two hundred years,” Aziraphale said, as he reached for the last container.

“You never let me listen in,” Crowley frowned.

“I didn’t think you’d want to, babe,” Aziraphale admitted.

“What?”

“I didn’t thi-“

“No,” Crowley interrupted him. “What did you just say? After that.”

“Babe – oh.”

Crowley was blushing. Aziraphale had never seen him – or any other demon for that matter – blush before.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered to himself, eyes glued to Crowley’s cheek as he tried to continue eating, but the demon was faster, pulling Aziraphale in close, until his face became blurry in front of the angel.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale felt himself blush as well.

“Oh babe,” Aziraphale said, intending to continue, but content with just trying out that word again. However, he never got to continue because, Crowley immediately closed the space between them, sealing his lips over the angel’s.

It was perfect, and as Aziraphale’s heart began to race and his love for Crowley bubbled over, his old gramophone in the living room started playing the Prelude to Bach’s third Cello Suite, although it sounded suspiciously like it was being played by Brian May’s Red Special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking LOVE this piece, but only because I played it for like 3 years straight. Probably more. I miss my cello.


	12. Sleepy cuddles

Six thousand years, Aziraphale thought as he listened to Crowley’s suspiciously human heartbeat. Six thousand years and it all came down to this.

His hand was resting on top of Crowley’s, thumb gently rubbing circles into his skin, making the situation alarmingly real. Touching Crowley was addictive, Aziraphale found. He was pressed up against Crowley’s side, the demon’s arm was resting against his back, holding him close, fingers slipping under the hem of Aziraphale’s pyjama shirt, gently drawing patterns into his skin. They were both tired – Crowley could always sleep and Aziraphale, after staying awake for several days, welcomed sleep as well.

Crowley moved his other hand, so his palm was facing up and Aziraphale entwined their fingers. It was a glorious feeling, one had never had with any humans he might have come close with, because none of those humans could ever connect with him on the same level as Crowley could.

And in any case, Aziraphale did not want anybody else. He wasn’t sure, exactly what the nature of his feelings for Crowley was, but he felt good like this – close to the demon, head resting on his chest, listening to his suspiciously human heartbeat.


	13. How did Crowley confess his love to Aziraphale?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written weirdly cause it's basically a headcanon post, but I decided to put it here anyway

How did Crowley confess his love to Aziraphale?

Rambly. Very Rambly. Crowley has been in love with him since basically the beginning of the world, but that doesn’t mean he has figured out language or even thought about confessing to his angel. Because Aziraphale was never open to anything like that anyway, and also, Crowley likes to think about what could be but never actually imagines it happening.

So they move in together and they live their lives and bit by bit, Aziraphale begins to seem less and less distant, he doesn’t keep pushing Crowley away at every turn and his puppy dog eyes become more insistent and more adoring and Crowley is just Really weak for them. Heart-racing and wobbly-knee weak. And they never talk about their feelings, it’s just not something you just start doing, so Crowley swallows down the urge to ASK, when Aziraphale kisses him one night, while they are both a bit too drunk for their own good. And he swallows it down again, when Aziraphale kisses him awake the next morning, and he pushes it aside again, when Aziraphale comes up behind him, hugging him , pressing gentle kisses to his neck in broad daylight when the neighbours could see, and he never brings it up, even when Aziraphale takes his hand when they walk to the pub where they have dinner once a month (the place, where they have that delicious self-made ice cream Aziraphale loves so much).

Crowley never asks Aziraphale about his feelings or about how he imagines them to work or anything of sorts. And then, Aziraphale asks  _him_  instead and even though Crowley has given it all so much thought, and even though, it’s been several millennia, he has absolutely no idea what to say. It goes a bit like follows:

“You were always there, angel. You were always there and sometimes we met and I knew I’d never find anybody who would come even close to you - given that hell is populated by slimy, stinking bastards and heaven is just a bunch of stuck up jerks - but you aren’t like that, are you? And humans, they don’t live long enough anyway. So, I knew it had to be you and I know you’re asking yourself, ‘what exactly has to be me?’ and I can tell you that the answer to this is: the love of my life. It’s pretty embarrassing, huh, to chase after somebody for six thousand bloody years, spending about five thousand nine hundred and ninety without them, even though you knew from the very start that they were everything you could hope for and -”

He says all of this at a speed that requires some serious concentration to follow. So, at that point, Aziraphale has to literally - physically -  put a hand over Crowley’s mouth to stop him from talking, because he tried to interrupt him before but Crowley just kept going, because if he stopped, he’d have to actually face Aziraphale in the knowledge that he just confessed to having been in love with him basically forever. But Aziraphale doesn’t ask any more questions; he only takes Crowley’s fidgety hands into his own and looks softly into his eyes, smiling that one special smile that is only ever directed at Crowley to calm him down. Then he says one sentence.

“I love you too.”

And Crowley nearly falls to his knees, crying and thanking God ( _pathetic_ ), because he is so relieved and also, he finally knows that all those years of waiting weren’t for nothing.


	14. Seven Deadly Sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's [This Traveling Wilburys Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYcCXzqRgDU).
> 
> Listen to the Traveling Wilburys, people. just do it. they have like 23 songs or something all in all. Every one of them is good. Extremely so.

Crowley was used to watching Aziraphale leave. It was a familiar sight, looking after him from the car, while the angel turned back around for a small wave, before unlocking the door of his bookshop, vanishing inside. Every time, Crowley wished he could follow him. (Sin number one was when you left me)

Crowley loved his voice; he loved how soft it was, loved how Aziraphale seemed completely unaware of the effect he had on Crowley, and the demon could stomach almost everything, Aziraphale said. Yet, “Goodbye” still hurt. Every time he heard the angel utter the phrase, Crowley had to restrain himself from flinching, as his heart began to ache in his chest. (Sin number two you said goodbye)

Crowley had lied to Aziraphale. Not often, but it had happened. However, it hadn’t happened recently and so, finding out that Aziraphale had withheld information about the Antichrist from him, even though they had agreed to work together, had hurt. It had hurt a lot and Crowley wanted to be angry, but with everything happening so fast, he could not bring himself to be very angry at all, especially not at Aziraphale. Because as a matter of fact, he was too in love with him. (Sin number three was when you told me a little white lie) 

But then, something changed.

When Crowley drove Aziraphale home to his restored bookshop after their lunch, there was the familiar twang of regret, that feeling of despair in the back of Crowley’s mind and he wanted to look away to spare himself of the familiar torture. But then Aziraphale turned back and stopped in the middle of the road. (Sin number four was when you looked my way) 

Cars stopped around him as Aziraphale slowly walked back to the Bentley, back towards Crowley and there was something in his eyes - something in his smile, that seemed to light up the entire world. (Sin number five was when you smiled)

Aziraphale opened the door on the driver’s side and held out a hand. “Come with me,” he said and Crowley - in a daze, he never quite wanted to leave behind - took hold of that hand and followed Aziraphale inside. “I’m sorry about everything, Crowley,” the angel said and let go off his hand again. “But most of all I’m sorry it all took me so long. And I suppose what I want to say is, please stay.” Crowley’s knees nearly gave in. (Sin number six was when you let me stay)

Crowley had waited. No demon or any other creature for that matter had shown or would ever be able to show patience just like his. Because he had waited for Aziraphale for an eternity and if need be, he would wait even longer. But now, the angel gently touched his cheek and whispered soft words, while leaning in closer, lips brushing against Crowley’s jaw, moving along an invisible line. “I’m sure now. I won’t change my mind, Crowley. Just… if you’ll have me… I’m here. And I won’t leave again.” Crowley didn’t respond, just turned his head a fraction to feel Aziraphale’s lips on his own. Aziraphale’s other hand came up to Crowley’s waist as he licked at the demon’s upper lip, asking for more. Crowley gave it to him.  
_‘Why? Why now?’ Crowley asked later that night. Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his neck and tightened his arms around Crowley’s middle. ‘I love you.’_ (Sin number seven was when you touched me and told me why)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shameless traveling wilburys advertising an I 100% stand by it.


	15. First Kiss Headcanon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for an ask on tumblr, so it's weird to read as a standalone but... basically the Question was:  
> Where does their first kiss happen?

It takes them a while after the Apocalypse-that-never-was to get back into their rhythm. Really, they never completely get there, because they both changed. Both of them realised that they need each other more than they are quite willing to admit.

One thing they have been doing for centuries is to drink together. In the beginning, it was just a glass of wine, later a few tumblers of whiskey or some cocktails, eventually, they trusted each other enough to completely let go and get smashed together. It’s familiar territory, so they do.

Except now, when the world goes fuzzy and Crowley’s brain feels kind of soft, his eyes seem to zoom in on Aziraphale’s lips, and there are what humans would call butterflies, fluttering within him. He tries to wash them out with another gulp of wine. 

Crowley leans back into the sofa in Aziraphale’s back room and he regrets the meters of space between them, so he gets up and walks over to Aziraphale’s armchair. He sits down on the armrest and drapes himself against the back.

It’s not as comfortable as the couch was, but it’s okay. Aziraphale said something, but Crowley didn’t listen. He only stares at his lips, stained red from the wine. They look soft.

They’ve always looked soft. A montage of all the times Crowley has looked at the angel’s lips, plays in the back of his mind, while he leans in.

Their lips meet, but something is off. Crowley pulls back and finds Aziraphale staring at him in shock. The butterflies are suddenly replaced by something that burns through him like holy water and Crowley is not so sure of anything right then.

“Wha- what was that for?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley shakes his head.

“How long?” Aziraphale continues, as if he expects the demon to be able to handle numbers right now.

“The beginning,” he slurs instead. The truth is less than a hundred years off from that, anyway.

Aziraphale abruptly moves to set down his glass, lifts his other arm and in the process, pushes Crowley off the side of the armchair, tumbling onto the floor, where he just stays, because everything is spinning, suddenly.

And then Aziraphale is there, cupping his face between his heavenly hands and then their lips meet again and the butterflies are back.

So, their first kiss happened on the dusty floor of the back room in Aziraphale’s book shop, while both of them were alarmingly drunk. It was, admittedly, not a good kiss.


	16. (A. Z.) Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst warning i guess. this isn't so fluffy

Aziraphale had expected a lot of things to happen after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. For one thing, he’d expected to die. For another, he had been sure, that something would go wrong eventually, giving them away. He knew, that Agnes Nutter had never been wrong up until now, but there was always a first and sometimes Aziraphale worried.

Then, they had not died and Crowley had taken him out to lunch, at the end of which, their fingers had touched and after a moment where Aziraphale’s brain short-circuited, they were holding hands, leaving the restaurant.

Aziraphale felt a bit dizzy on the way home – to Crowley’s flat – but he didn’t pay it much attention. After all, they were going quite fast through an area where going quite fast could end up being fatal, and he was still feeling a bit woozy from the way Crowley’s fingers had felt between his own.

By the time they arrived, he felt a bit better; Crowley’s hand brushing against his own, made his heart race. And when they were inside, door falling shut behind them, Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s face between his hands and leaned in for a gentle kiss. It was everything Aziraphale had ever wanted; his knees turned to jelly and he had trouble standing upright. When Crowley pulled back, Aziraphale slumped down against the wall.

“Aziraphale?” he heard Crowley’s voice, although it was distant - or sounded vaguely as if Aziraphale was several metres under water. The world was spinning around him, so he closed his eyes.

“Angel?”

“’m fine. Dizzy,” he slurred and attempted to get back up. But the second he tried to move, a splitting pain shot through his entire body and everything went black.

When he came to, he was lying in a bed.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley uttered. He turned his head, but the pain was still there. It felt, as if his body was on fire. Aziraphale was vaguely aware, that his wings had burst from his back; he was unable to keep them hidden through this agony.

Crowley moved, his footsteps tracking away from Aziraphale.

“Do you know what’s happening?” he asked, and Aziraphale almost shook his head – then, merely replied, “No.”

“I’m so, so sorry.” Crowley’s voice was breaking and Aziraphale forced his eyes open, finally.

“What is it?” he asked. “Do you know?”

Crowley didn’t reply, which was answer enough.

“What is it?” he repeated, panic muffling his voice.

“You’re falling.”

The blood was rushing in Aziraphale’s ears. If Crowley said anything else, he didn’t hear it.

He pressed his eyes shut, hoping to fall unconscious again, because the pain was overwhelming, all-encompassing.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure, how long he just lay on the bed in this half-conscious state, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. He did not succeed. It hurt so incredibly intensely – not just physically, but mentally – everything did. And when he next opened his eyes, vision blurry with tears he was not aware he had been shedding, Crowley was nowhere to be seen. There were white feathers lying all over the room; as he looked behind himself, his wings were very patchy. A few white feathers, mixed between stark, reddish-brown ones, replacing them.

He felt panic boiling up in his throat at the sudden sense of loss that washed over him.

“Crowley,” he croaked, in the desperate hope that he would hear. “Please.”

It took a moment, but eventually, Crowley appeared in the doorframe, looking devastated.

“Aziraphale,” he said.

It hurt to hear the name.

“Please,” he repeated, unsure what he was asking for. Crowley reached out for his hands.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

Aziraphale recoiled at the sound of the word.

“Don’t,” he whimpered, fingers cramping around Crowley’s. “Don’t say that. I’m … I’m losing my grip.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said softly.

“I don’t know where I am.” He was desperate.

“You’re with me,” Crowley said, and somehow, that helped.

He pulled his hands back again and Aziraphale protested weakly.

“Stay.” It was barely more than a whisper. “I … I need you. You’re the one thing keeping me sane right now.”

Crowley looked terrified, before he sat down on the side of the bed.

“Okay.”

Aziraphale lifted up his head to rest it on Crowley’s thigh. To just be closer.

“Anything you need, love.”

And even though pain ran through Aziraphale like scalding poison in his veins, he tried to smile for Crowley.


	17. A morning after

Crowley had spent whole nights with Aziraphale before. Most of those, they had been drinking and forgetting time until the morning light shone in through the impeccably cleaned windows of the flat above the bookshop.

This was different. For one thing, they hadn’t gotten drunk. For another, there was a whole lot more touching than ever before. They weren’t at the point yet, where Crowley would have liked to be for literal thousands of years, but Aziraphale had barely let go off his hand all night, pressing himself close to Crowley, holding on to him like a lifeline. It felt good, exactly right – as much as if could be right for a demon to enjoy an angel’s close presence.

Crowley assumed, it was different, because he was in love with said angel.

He had been surprised, when he woke up before Aziraphale did, but then proceeded to slowly pull back from the embrace he was being held in. Without even thinking about it, he grabbed something that looked vaguely wearable off the chair next to the bedroom door, and went to take a nice hot shower. When he stepped out of the bathroom, refreshed, but cosy and warm, dressed in nothing but briefs and the shirt he had taken from Aziraphale’s chair, he cracked his neck, while he made his way to the small kitchen.

He made himself an espresso – not because he needed it, but simply because it was one of the tastes, he had come to quite enjoy over the past decades – and was just picking up the cup from underneath the uncharacteristically expensive coffee maker, when he heard soft footsteps coming to a halt at the door.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked softly and the demon in question needed to carefully reign in his expression, so as not to show, that he had just impossibly fallen even more in love. He turned around and gave the angel a smile.

“Who else?”

“Nothing… umm, nobody. I just –“ he stammered and Crowley’s smile widened, just a bit.

“What is it, angel?” he asked and took a sip of his coffee. He didn’t mind that it was still scalding hot.

“You look uh, you look good,” Aziraphale said and blushed. He was adorable. His hair was still mussed from a good night’s sleep. The dressing gown, he had put on, made him look smaller than he was, especially, because he tried to hide in it.

“Ah, thank you,” Crowley replied and set down the cup on the kitchen table, before he took a couple of steps in Aziraphale’s direction.

“Is that… my shirt?” the angel asked, and Crowley merely shrugged.

“I needed one,” he added after a moment.

Aziraphale just looked at him, then held out a hand.

“Come back to bed.”

“I thought you didn’t like sleeping.”

Aziraphale’s blush became even more obvious.

“Can’t sleep anymore. But I want to hold you.”

Crowley’s heart was beating a very unhealthy-sounding rhythm, as he took the offered hand.

“Okay,” he breathed.

When he found himself in bed, his head on Aziraphale’s chest, closing his eyes, and took a deep breath, the angel spoke up once more.

“Oh, and like this, you don’t have to steal my clothes to smell me.”

As much as the demon frowned at that, he couldn’t stop a blush creeping into his own cheeks.


	18. Fraternising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just catching up on posting these

 

They were feeding ducks. It was a habit that didn’t seem very hard to break, but once you got used to it, you could never help but wonder if maybe the ducks missed you.

So, they were still feeding ducks. However, they had made a switch from bread to seeds and grapes and other things Crowley thought were strange to feed to ducks. But Aziraphale had insisted.

“157 years,” Crowley said after triple-checking his calculations. It would be awkward if he got it wrong.

Aziraphale didn’t react at first. Only when Crowley was about to repeat himself, he asked.

“What?”

“We were here, you know. Feeding ducks.”

Crowley briefly wondered, if they were the same ducks, but then reminded himself, that unlike himself and the angel at his side, ducks were mortal beings. At least as far as was known.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, but Crowley could tell that he wasn’t paying attention. He popped the last of the grapes he was holding into his mouth – he could almost feel the ducks’ reproachful stares – before he turned to Aziraphale.

“You accused me of  _fraternising_  with you,” he said.

The angel looked up and Crowley could quite literally watch him return to reality.

“It’s been that long?” he asked.

Crowley nodded.

“Fraternising. Hmm. Odd word for it.”

“For what?” Crowley frowned.

“Being in love,” Aziraphale shrugged and the demon nearly choked on a grape seed.

“What?” he coughed; his eyes almost popping out of his skull.

“Now, don’t look at me like that,” Aziraphale said, as if it was Crowley who was being weird.

“Just to be clear,” Crowley wheezed, between two coughing fits. “Could you… repeat that?”

“I said fraternising was an odd word to use for being in love.”

“So you were in love?”

Aziraphale smiled.

“With me?”

“Are,” the angel said.

“What?”

“I am in love.”

“Why  _are_ , then?” Crowley repeated. Then the penny dropped. “You’re in love with me?”

Aziraphale smiled, but the insecurity shone through.

“Oh.”

“I thought, you… I thought maybe now, it wouldn’t… nobody cares anymore. I can tell you.”

Crowley fought down the urge to cough again.

“Angel,” he said instead and hoped, the single word would express enough.

Aziraphale turned away again, leaving Crowley’s racing heart as the only evidence that he hadn’t just hallucinated this conversation, until Aziraphale brushed their hands together and slowly interlaced their fingers.

It was a reassuring gesture, Crowley more than welcomed, but it didn’t exactly help with his racing heart.


	19. fluff

 

“I’m fine.”

Crowley didn’t believe a word of it.

Aziraphale hadn’t been fine since the Apocalypse, and at first Crowley had been horrified, suspecting the angel was falling, but he would have shown signs of that by now. He was just oddly distant – something Crowley had thought they had gotten over by now. Apparently not.

“Why can’t you just leave me be, then?” Aziraphale snapped and Crowley flinched. He hated that Aziraphale felt the need to speak to him like this.

“Fine then,” he replied, perhaps a bit too harshly, but Aziraphale was facing away from him; Crowley couldn’t read his face. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Aziraphale didn’t react for several moments.

Crowley turned around as well; he couldn’t be in this room anymore, otherwise, he would probably do something that would do neither of them any good.

Just when he was about to step outside, He heard Aziraphale shuffle around.

“Okay.”

Crowley stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Don’t leave.” Aziraphale said and Crowley could hear in his voice how much effort it took for him to say these words. “Please.” It was barely more than a faint whisper, but Crowley closed the door again and turned around to Aziraphale.

The angel wasn’t trying to hide his feelings anymore.

“I didn’t think I’d miss it,” he said quietly, without meeting Crowley’s eyes.

“Heaven,” the demon filled in. The word tasted disgusting but he didn’t show it.

“Yes. I wasn’t there a lot before. It’s just… the thought of never going back.”

Crowley walked over across the room and sat down next to the angel.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale said.

“It’s not and you’re allowed to be not okay,” Crowley said.

“Did you ever feel at home up there?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Not really, no.”

“Then, let’s find a place that’s so much home, you can feel better about heaven.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Aziraphale uttered softly.

“You won’t,” Crowley said and for once in his life, he sat up straight and strong, because Aziraphale was leaning against him and really, it was the least he could do.

“Thank you,” the angel said.

Crowley merely hummed and let the slightest of smiles play around the corners of his lips.


	20. Paranoia

Aziraphale woke up because something didn’t feel right. He extended an arm, reached for Crowley, but the other side of the bed was empty.

“Crowley?” he asked, his head heavy, sleep waiting to pull him back into unconsciousness.

There was no answer; Aziraphale rolled over and forced his eyes open. Crowley was standing at the window. The rain was knocking heavily against the windowsill, a bolt of lightning momentarily lit up the black sky, illuminating the room, painting patterns of light and shadow on Crowley’s angular face.

When the thunder rolled across the heavy clouds, the demon shivered.

“Come to bed, darling,” Aziraphale said, but Crowley didn’t react. Despite himself, Aziraphale climbed out of bed, the cool air making him shiver as well. Through the thin sole of his slippers, he felt the cold floor underneath his feet as he stepped up next to Crowley, resting a hand on his hip, arm slung around him. Crowley leaned into his touch minutely.

“What’s the matter?”

Crowley still didn’t reply, but his hand joined Aziraphale’s at his side. For a few moments, they stood there in silence, watching the dark silhouettes of trees shaking in underneath a rather stormy night-sky.

“I can’t hear.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was still staring out the window.

“I’m always keeping an eye out for them. Or an ear. Anything. I can’t risk all of this.” Crowley jerked his head around, eyes finally meeting Aziraphale’s.

“So you can’t monitor everything during this thunderstorm?”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale brought up both hands to cup Crowley’s face.

“Nobody is coming. No angels, no demons. They wouldn’t dare.” There was a power in his voice, that surprised Aziraphale himself, but he meant it. He meant every single word. And if they did come, he would fight and he would win. The passion in his heart, a bright flame, where there had been a spark for six thousand years, would make him fight.

It wasn’t going to come to that, he reminded himself.

“Come back to bed,” he mumbled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips.

The demon followed him as Aziraphale took his hand.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said, shuffling under the blankets. He wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding his bony form tightly against himself. “And nobody is going to hurt you. I promise it.”

Crowley whispered a soft ‘thank you’ into Aziraphale’s shirt and his hand curled into a fist, grasping at the fabric. He was holding on to the angel and even though Crowley was nowhere near uttering them, Aziraphale still heard the words.

_I love you, too._


	21. Things you said after you kissed me

Crowley’s hands were shaking, lightly grasping at Aziraphale’s waistcoat, soft fabric underneath his fingertips. His grip was more a means to stabilise himself than to keep Aziraphale in place.

Crowley was barely breathing, he didn’t dare move because if he did, the scene might evaporate like an abruptly interrupted dream. Aziraphale however did move. His hands, previously cupping Crowley’s face, wandered upwards, fingers lightly taking the side pieces of his glasses between his index finger and thumb.

Crowley still didn’t move, as Aziraphale met his eyes, while he set the glasses aside.

“Was it too much?”

The sound of his voice, so familiar after everything unfamiliar that had just happened, snapped Crowley out of the trance he had been stuck in.

“Too much?” he repeated, making sure Aziraphale knew he was mocking him.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” the angel said defensively.

“After thousands of years of waiting, I’m sure anybody would be overwhelmed.” Crowley frowned, but Aziraphale’s hands came back to the sides of his face.

“Oh, dear boy,” Aziraphale said in a way that made Crowley’s frown evaporate. “I do hope I can make up for all that time.”

Crowley was about to scoff, but then he was being kissed by an angel and the impulse died down rather quickly.


	22. Things you said when you thought I was asleep

Crowley sighed and turned around. His eyes were closed and his he was almost asleep, but not quite.

Gentle fingers smoothed the blanket over his shoulders; he was warm, cosy, and he finally understood what Aziraphale meant when he said that he could sense love. Because Crowley felt loved.

He was sure, that Aziraphale loved him. Stealthy kisses and looks over the span of the last weeks, told him as much, even if the angel himself didn’t.

It hurt, still trying to hold back all he was feeling despite himself, but Crowley was willing to wait just a bit longer. Eventually, Aziraphale would open up to him; what were a couple of weeks, months, or even years compared to the millennia he had already endured?

Crowley felt himself drifting off, welcoming the numbing sensation of sleep, the deep peace it brought to him.

Then Aziraphale began to speak.

“Sleep tight.”

Crowley heard the smile in his voice.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

It was a comforting thing to hear.

“I’ll always be here. I’ve tried before but it’s hard… trying to keep up with you. We’re too different.”

Crowley’s heart broke a little at hearing those words; the same sentiment in them, as he had heard and seen a thousand times before in Aziraphale’s words and actions.

He turned around, cracking open an eye trying to understand why the angel was saying these things, but Aziraphale was intently staring at his book; he thought Crowley was asleep.

He stayed still and after several minutes of silence, Aziraphale continued.

“I think I’m finally catching up.”


	23. Things you said at 1 am

Time passed differently for immortal beings. Aziraphale knew, he could go days without so much as moving. But mortal or immortal – 1 am was, compared to other times in the day, a rather good one to be drunk.

And he was.

Drunk and leaning against Crowley, who was unnaturally stiff next to him.

“Have you… y’know. Been with somebody else?” Crowley asked. He was looking across the room, avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes at all cost.

The angel reached over and pulled Crowley into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss against his temple. Crowley still refused to look at him, but Aziraphale’s world was soft and fuzzy and the demon in his arms didn’t fight his touch; if anything, he leaned into it.

“I haven’t.” he admitted.

“How’d’ye… How, how do ya know… then? That, y’know, that it – it’s me, you wanna be w- be… with?” Crowley stammered and Aziraphale only became even more sure of his answer.

“’ve never… felt, like… felt like this. Mmh, don’t trust anybody.”

“You – but you trust… a demon?” Crowley asked and turned around.

Aziraphale’s world seemed to shift into focus around Crowley’s face, making it the only thing that mattered.

“I trust  _you_ ,” he said.

Crowley’s kiss was clumsy and rough and their lips didn’t quite meet in the right way, but in this moment, it was still perfect.


	24. Things you said with no space between us

Aziraphale pressed a kiss against Crowley’s shoulder, one at the nape of his neck, and felt the demon squirming beneath him. A whimpering moan left his lips.

Aziraphale looked at him, and let his eyes speak for him.  _Use your words._

“Kiss me,” Crowley panted out.

The angel smiled in return and leaned down to close his lips over Crowley’s.

They were going rather slower, than what could be expected after yearning for thousands of years. Then again, every little kiss was so much more intense when it only became reality after such a long time. It was a feeling of savouring the best; so much pleasure to be won from the barest minimum.

Crowley’s eyes were wide, when they slowly opened after Aziraphale pulled back.

The angel was drawn in by them, the deep colour seeping out past the confine of his irises. Crowley was barely paying attention to keeping up appearances.

“It’s been so long,” he whispered, and Aziraphale felt like it was a mantra, playing in the back of his mind since the first time his lips had met Crowley’s.

“I know, dear boy.”

If anything, Crowley’s eyes shone even softer at these words.

“Can-“ Crowley’s voice broke, and he hesitated before trying again.

“Can we go faster?”

For the twenty-third time in over six thousand years, Aziraphale could not find the words he needed. Instead he leaned down again, into a kiss, that reminded him to be thankful he didn’t technically need to breathe.


	25. Things you said I wish you hadn't

“We’re enemies,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley heard his voice like an echo throughout history.

There he was, in ancient greece, and Aziraphale was barely the shadow of a distant memory, yet his voice was crystal clear “enemies”.

It had happened at the court of Charlemagne, where they had met, however briefly. “Enemies,” Aziraphale’s voice echoed.

They had met dozens, hundreds of times, and even when they were obviously on the same side, Aziraphale gave Crowley the same old lines.

It had been fine in the beginning, when Crowley himself had believed that they were destined to oppose each other. But with each year, decade, with each meeting, no matter if Aziraphale said those words or not, it began to sting. The distance, the looks, the constant rejection verbal or not, was slowly taking Crowley apart, and if he could erase one phrase from Aziraphale’s active vocabulary, it would be ”we’re hereditary enemies".

Too often now, he had protested against them. And so, he merely looked into Aziraphale’s eyes and reached out a hand. Through the pain in his heart and the resistance in his own bones, born from millennia of holding back, he reached out and forced a smile onto his lips.

”Please, angel,” he managed to say and to his surprise, Aziraphale leaned into the touch and his gaze was almost apologetic.

It was a small detail in comparison to Crowley’s pain but it was a start, and after all, most recently, everything had been about fresh starts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! if so,, I always appreciate kudos and comments, especially <3


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